


abecean shores

by thalmor



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Angst, Fantasy Racism, Gay Character Death, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Parent, as babs, forbidden relationship, he is a little bab, mixed-race characters, non-transphobic/homophobic universe, vestige backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalmor/pseuds/thalmor
Summary: years before the events of the elder scrolls online saw an altmer and a maormer, marines of their respective provinces, fall in love. they could only get away with it for so long
Relationships: Original Altmer Character(s)/Original Maormer Character(s), Trans Male/Cis Male
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	abecean shores

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of backstory in regards to my maormer/altmer vestige, kallalon gaeorin, and the fate of one of his parents + twin sister

The weather on Pyandonea wasn’t kind. Much like those inhabiting it, tt never was. Rain in the form of unrelenting storms was frequent, flooding as a consequence. When it wasn't raining, it was humid, moisture hanging in the air and being found on every surface left exposed. Even on land, Sea Elves belonged to the water. From where Kalmyras stood, feet planted firmly against a slope of steep rocks as a vantage point, he could see a lone Altmer, small against the waves of high-tide and sad, grey sand, so unlike the sands of the mer’s homeland. As a Sea Viper, he had only ever seen Auridon, and he could hardly believe that there could be shores more blinding, but such was the case in the land of Alinors and Shimmerenes. Or so he was told. 

He wished he had time to see for himself. Feel the kiss on the nose his beloved would give as he threw down the hood from over Kalmyras’ finned ears, clearing loose strands of hair from in front of his pale blue eyes. Eat more of those honey cakes that he would sneak all the way from Vulkhel over to him at their carefully arranged meetings. Careful, careful, always so careful. They needed to be. In the end it wasn’t enough. Not in the measures they should’ve known would be most needed. He began to make his way towards Ortiellon.

Pyandonean shores had their own merits. A lifetime spent either on them or on the sea itself meant he had no choice but to be familiar, grow fond, in his own exhausted way. He recalled the times as a youth trudging through the pebbly sands of northern Pyandonea, bringing the most colorful shells back inland across shallow streams and muddy fields to Tiguna to show off to his parents, hoping them to be in the mood to give him care. Attaching them to thread as his own sort of bunting, draped around his bunk of the ship in his later years, and then giving them away once he found love in a certain mer. No such fond memories and niceties were seen on the very same shoreline tonight. As he hugged himself and the precious mass in his arms tightly against soaking snaps of wind, he could see Ortiellon do the same.

Kalmyras carefully navigated the rocky cliff-face downwards towards the awaiting high elf. Ortiellon seemed to notice his partner’s approach, and through squinting eyes of hazel and fern he called out the Maormer’s name and raised a relieved hand of greeting. 

“Shut up,” Kalmyras hissed back, even though he was still too far away to hear quiet correspondences. He didn't want to risk them being found prematurely. He hated fear, always resolved and was raised to be solid with valor, and yet he was so afraid. He fumbled in scaling the rocks slick with rain, sandals slipping, the bruises on his ankles, legs, everywhere knocking up against the cliff and throbbing in pain. And most importantly, in-between his arms was his baby cradled, Altmer blood evident in the way scales just littered her yellow skin, light teal and coarse fabric only slightly covering the subtle finning of her ears. She wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t crying, either, and it scared him. For once in his life, everything seemed to scare him. He tried to not think of the fate of the one torn out of his arms, and hissed again. “You fool, shut up.” 

The golden-skinned mer didn’t hear him and instead stayed where he was, watching his lover approach all the while with impatient feet and hands, his fingers tugging and pulling against each other, height rising and falling with each raise of his toes. Ortiellon was always so restless. Kalmyras could never quell his energy, and he wasn't going to start now. He couldn't blame him even if it made sense to.

What felt a century later, Kalmyras neared. Ortiellon couldn’t stand to wait where he was for the other to approach, and hurriedly met him midway, peering to see the babe in between his arms. “Careful,” The Maormer warned, hushed, tilting the young elf ever so slightly, so that the browns and greens of his eyes met the pale blue of his child’s. And just above, was Kalmyras’, sclera revealing the same blues of the water of Pyandonea. Ortiellon took months to get Kalmyras to acknowledge that as a compliment. The Maormer handed the child over to Ortiellon as he blinked away the rain amongst rapid tears that he couldn’t help but let fall. “We must hurry.”

Both knew the severity of the situation to begin with, but perhaps it settled late for Ortiellon. He gazed upon the throbbing bruises and wounds on the Maormer's previously pristine and clear skin in a dawning fear.

“Where’s the other one?” Now Ortiellon was crying, too, drops falling over the sharpness of his cheekbones, the raised skin of his many scars, angled brows furrowed. He stared at Kalmyras, gripping tightly to the blanket around their baby like she'd be taken away, too. She would, if they didn't hurry. “You said there was a pair. Twins…”

Kalmyras wilted. He didn't respond. The Altmer, once his beloved, always his beloved, repeated, “Where are they?” _Oh, Ortiellon._ The pale elf wished he was of a lesser strength and with more time, if only to allow himself the wail building in his chest.

“They took him.” Kalmyras’ voice was as even as ever, but wrought with pain. He hoped the rain covered how his tears came down aplenty. “He’s gone.”

“Dead?” The words, that very idea, was searing. Kalmyras flinched as if it were a blow, and couldn't bring himself to answer. He couldn’t know. Dead, alive, it didn't matter. If the child wasn't killed, he would be raised in a society where he'd be better off dead. And neither would Kalmyras himself live to see. Ortiellon could only wait so long before he took the meaning, and he didn't press it, his eyes widening and falling to their remaining daughter. They could only get away with it for so long.

They stood there. The wind seemed to pick up, whipping and shoving them, the dark clouds above seeming to pulse in unbridled force and rage. The Maormer felt it, felt the storm pressing on his shoulders, his family, his friends, his island, his race, all of Pyandonea, and the Gods, too, all so angry. Or perhaps it was his anger, directed at it all. Whether it was one or the other, all naught now. He turned briefly to the direction he came as his ears picked up the sound of distant talking, shouting, like sharks descending on prey. With that, he prayed his death would be quick. They still had time, but he wished they had more. "Go."

The Altmer looked up from the babe in his arms, their beautiful child, and begged out. His eyes were wide, their strong gleam stifled by the fogginess of the raindrops beating down. "Come with me."

"No," The Maormer shook his head. Strands of white hair stuck wet to his forehead, draping down across the fins of his ears. "Go."

The Altmer was ever persistent. "Come with us," Hands occupied, he could only watch as the Maormer ignored his words to summon a portal. Fingers bent at the knuckles as the battle-worn spellsword used his skills one final time. His energy had been dulled over the stress of the past months, but he gathered it all for the most important usage of his life. The sparks and streaks of Maormeri magic matched the waves beneath them, blue and gray and angry, and the life of those he loved dear awaited in the beckoning void in-between.

Kalmyras thought about what Ortiellon wanted from him. He couldn't. Despite the way his heart seemed to pull and wrench and tighten at the thought, he couldn’t. His province's years of isolationism, secrecy, and strong hatred of anything else, all meant that the consequences of desertion were dire. He didn't have enough time to do it right. They would find him, and his two loves as well.

" _Go_."

Something flashed in the Altmer’s eyes. The same glint on the frequent occasions they used to spat and argue, the same glint as he held his tongue between his glossed lips, corners bent in a snarl of building retaliation. This time, he’d keep it there. “Damn it all,” Ortiellon sobbed, overwhelmed. “Kal, I--” 

The Sea Elf interrupted his words as he came at him, holding his cheeks with both hands as he kissed the mer he held dear. His left travelled, fingers grazing sun-kissed skin before twisting into cream strands. One last time. Where he tilted his face and touched his nose against the Altmer, he felt yet another tear roll near. Then, he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry,” Kalmyras’ shoulders fell, and soon his hands till they arrived at their child. He could only say it to both of them. With a pale blue hand he stroked her cheek. Her face was a certain way, as if she was about to start fussing. Ortiellon would have to soon attend to her without him. He only had so long with her, with her brother, with Ortiellon; too little. He kept the feel of her soft skin and soft scales near to his heart as he pulled away. He looked up at Ortiellon and knew it was time. “No longer.” He yearned to hold the mer’s hands, hold his children’s hands, big and tiny and soft and calloused and all _his_ , yearned to hold all three of them in his arms and never let them go. But he couldn’t. _No longer._

Kalmyras kept a part of his mind devoted to the preservation of the portal but it could only last so long. He took a step back. Ortiellon hesitated for a moment before turning to the portal, then to Kalmyras again. “I love you, Kalmyras.” 

“I love you.” Kalmyras echoed back in a beat. He kept his voice calm and clear even as he felt like his body was ripping, tearing, his soul hurting. “We’ll meet again.” Words not just for the three that made up his heart, but himself, as well. He was scared.

And then they were gone. The portal faded soon after. It was as if all the power instantly sapped from his body and drained into the ocean around him. The Maormer sunk to his knees, hands coming down to grasp at the shore beneath him, sand and pebbles and gravel coming up between his fingertips, rising to his knuckles only to be swept away once more by the passing waves. A mer such as him spent his life on the sea, learning to cherish the salt of the water, the coolness of the Abecean, the rocking and lapping of the waves, but he felt nothing. All that was left in his final moments, and yet with it the cold replaced Ortiellon's warm arms, the salt, it burnt his mouth and nose, and the waves seemed to try to topple him. He dedicated his entire life to the ocean and it neglected to recompense any final comforts.

Kalmyras weeped. His shaking arms were now empty. His heart, too. Above him, the clouds screamed along with, and as the storm called, his fate did as well in the distant shouts and stinging scent of lightning magic at the sight of him, like standing directly above raging flames. No combat of the sort would be needed. He had no fight left in him. 

Ortiellon always found it so unpleasant, that smell. Certain types of magic tended to have varying ranges of odor, and he hated it. Ironic, for a high elf. Kalmyras liked to laugh at him for it. He wondered if their child, children, would inherit his skills with magic, or Ortiellon’s more secular prowess.

When the sword, much like he himself used to wield, deep silver engraved with serpent scales and emerging from a steel maw to match, descended between his eyes, he had long settled on who occupied his remaining thoughts. And, aided by how much fury he knew too well would be caused in those who dedicate every breath to stopping it, he found it in himself to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> a little note for clarity, as the pronouns can be confusing. both twins end up being trans, so the one given off to ortiellon is kallalon, a man, the one taken away by maormer officials is ulespina, his sister, woman.  
> i wrote this in the throes of The Mental Illness and don't really want to look at it anymore so forgive any errors


End file.
